Accendo
by Serendippity1
Summary: Omega!verse Sherlock x Molly. Molly successfully pretended she was a Beta, until Sherlock found out. And then it became his obsession. First fic! Made up the rules of Omega!verse as the story progressed. Takes place after season 2. Rating is for later chapters. Please read Author's Notes beforehand for information regarding the story.
1. Chapter 1

**The characters and rights to them belong to BBC and the writers. **

**A/N: First fic on this website. Criticism is encouraged, but please try to be kind. It's going to be rated M for later chapters, but this chapter is rated T. Please make sure to read the A/Ns before any chapter, there are so many directions that this could go in, so reading about graphic warnings ahead of time might help determine whether or not you would like to continue reading (but I sincerely hope you continue). I'll try to update often if I can, and hopefully I won't stumble into writer's block. **

**Also, this was non-beta'd, so my apologies in advance for any spelling or grammatical errors. I tried to catch them all myself but there's a good chance some slipped through. **

Chapter 1

At the age of 11, Molly noticed that the girl who lived next to her began to act… odd. Only a couple of years older than her, they would walk together every morning to go to school. And yet, on a particularly warm day in May, Melanie seemed to be unusually flustered. By what, Molly had no idea. But she noticed that as they made their way to the school, Melanie was walking in a way that made her legs rub up against each other.

It rather looked like she needed to use the loo.

She overheard later on that Melanie had left for home early, but she didn't understand why some of the older boys were smirking when they said so. On her way home that day, she stopped by Melanie's house to ask after her, but her mother came to the door, quickly informed Molly that Melanie wouldn't be coming to school for the next few days, and then promptly shut it, leaving Molly more confused than she was that morning.

She relayed all this to her dad later in the evening, and watched as her dad turned an interesting shade of pink. After a few moments' pause, he gave out a sigh and began to tell her about Alphas and Omegas.

Melanie was an Omega. But what, exactly, did that mean would happen, Molly wondered. And why were those boys smirking?

And Alfred Hooper, as gently and considerately as he could, told his young daughter that some people in the world respected Omegas, while others treated them rather lowly. That some Alphas see Omegas as people that are used, and go around trying to bed as many as they could. But the best thing an Omega could do would be to bond with someone who truly loved her. And that was very important, did Molly understand? Because one day Molly would have a heat cycle, and she needed to be with someone who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, not someone who would take her during her time of need and then leave promptly after.

The full implication of being an Omega didn't come to Molly until the following week, when she and Melanie walked to school again. Except this time, there were quite a few boys she recognized that were nearby as well, boys who wouldn't normally be anywhere near their part of town. Melanie noticed too, going by her quickly reddening cheeks, and while she told Molly to ignore them and keep walking, it was rather hard to not hear some of the crude remarks directed at the older girl.

Months later, a day before Melanie missed school again, the comments and whistles that had died down previously started up again, particularly from a few of the older boys. And then Molly decided that being an Omega might just be too much of a hassle. She was already so embarrassed for Melanie, she couldn't imagine how she might react if it ever happened to her.

But it would, wouldn't it? Because according to her dad, it was something that was biological, something you couldn't change, just like how you couldn't change who your parents were.

So Molly, and a rather relieved Alfred, decided to hide the fact that she was an Omega. They bought a particular perfume that would mask her scent as an Omega when the time came, the only thing available at that time. And in any records they had, present or future, they wrote down "Beta" on all of them.

She was still an Omega though, and so preparations were made for when her heat cycle began. Alfred had managed to buy a small place by some woods, the size of a studio apartment and incredibly isolated. Molly would stay there during her heats, and while he would come to check up on her, she would for the most part be alone.

Which suited her just fine. This wasn't something she wanted to share with her dad, no matter how close they were.

In July of the following year, Molly started her heat cycle. It was perhaps the most uncomfortable week she had, with nothing to help her pass the burning she felt. Afterward, she was determined to find some way to ease the discomfort, but first she needed to make sure her secret stayed safe. So she began taking two showers a day and carried the perfume with her everywhere she went. And to her immense relief, no one found out the truth.

SHMH*

Omega suppressant pills were highly regulated, and were only given to Omegas who needed them for a medical condition. Molly, who had successfully identified herself as a Beta, took full advantage of working at a teaching hospital and made her own suppressant. It required some amount of dodging the other staff, but it was amazing what one could do if they bothered to learn a few schedules. It must be how Sherlock always managed to waltz in. Granted, he was allowed to be there, _now_. But before only she and Mike Stamford knew he even came to the hospital, and that was because Mike was the one who gave him access to the morgue.

It was a strange miracle that she had even managed to keep it from Sherlock.

Speaking of Sherlock…

Dear Lord, but did he weigh a ton. You wouldn't think it, if you saw him. Molly rather thought that he might be thinner that her, and he almost never ate. But here they were, with Molly half holding him up while they walked up the stairs to her flat. She didn't know why Sherlock thought he'd be fine after falling off the roof of St. Bart's, even if he didn't 'fall' like a normal suicidal person.

Molly knew it was a sad state of affairs when one began to think of 'normal' suicidal people and the ways they die.

When they finally made it inside, she kicked her door closed with her foot and then slowly pushed him into her sitting room and unto her couch. Turning on the nearby light, she gave him a closer inspection than she had at the morgue.

All things considered, he really wasn't that bad off. There was still a nasty cut by his temple that needed to be looked at again, and there was definitely _something_ wrong with his leg, but other than that and a few bruises, he was altogether fine. Which was a miracle within itself, really. For one heart-stopping moment, she had actually thought Sherlock had truly died as she stared at him while he laid on her examining table, a needle of adrenaline ready to administer.

And then he coughed, and she almost stabbed him out of fright.

Sherlock leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes, while Molly went off for some supplies to clear his head wound. His eyes remained closed while she bandaged it again, and she would have thought he had fallen asleep if not for his fingers twitching every few seconds. Closer inspection of his leg showed that the muscle had probably been slightly pulled, but no other damage could be seen. After clearing away everything, she came back and sat on the small sitting table directly in front of him.

"Sherlock?"

He opened on eye in response and looked at her.

"I have to go back to the morgue, clear up paperwork and all that. Will you be alright for a few hours? I'll try to run back as soon as I can."

He sighed and closed his eye. "Don't bother, Molly. I won't be here when you return."

"What?"

Sherlock looked at her again. "I'm leaving. There's too much to do, and it has to be done quickly so that I can officially return from the dead. The longer I linger, the more opportunities are missed." He sat up on the couch. "Thank you, again."

Sherlock looked as if he wanted to say more but was rather holding himself back.

Molly slowly got up. "Er… you're welcome." She looked around the room a bit, trying to think of something to say. What did you tell someone who wasn't dead, but you're the only person who knows he's alive? "If you could –"

The words died in her throat, because when she had turned her eyes to Sherlock again, it was to see Sherlock staring at her with the most peculiar expression. Molly thought it looked like he was trying to deduce something from her, but it wasn't only that. There was something else, and if Molly didn't know better she would have thought it was… lust.

Which was patently ridiculous. Sherlock was asexual, everyone knew that. Or in some weird arrangement with John, despite the blogger denying it so avidly. Last she checked, John was a Beta while Sherlock was an Alpha, so who knew what went on between them behind the door of 221B.

Whatever that look was, it became even more intense as Sherlock replied, "Yes?" in that deep voice of his. It was a shame that it did nothing for Molly anymore. Once, a while ago, Sherlock was all Molly could think about, but a girl could only take so much and not be disenchanted with him. She hadn't even stuttered in front of him for the past 5 hours.

"What? Oh, erm… right, I just wanted to ask if you could, that is to say, if you have time, and you aren't too busy –"

"Molly."

Damn. Now she was rambling. Which was not her fault. If only he would stop looking at her like that, she'd be _fine_.

"Right, sorry. I just – I'd like to know you're still alive. When you're out – wherever, I guess. A text or a phone call or an email…" She trailed off with a nervous giggle.

That look finally disappeared, to be replaced with his normal countenance. "Not safe. Anyone could track me by a phone or could potentially get to you. You're the only one that hasn't been threatened, Molly, let's try to keep it that way, hmm?"

Molly looked disheartened. "Oh. Right." She looked around her flat again. "Well, do try to be safe," she said awkwardly.

Sherlock turned around and fully laid down on her couch, hands steepled under his chin. He grunted at her, and then closed his eyes and became as still as a statue.

Molly stared at him for a moment longer, then went to pick up her coat and keys before heading to the door. Just as she was about to open it, she heard Sherlock call her name.

"Yes?"

There was another pause, and then, "Thank you. Really."

Her lips broke into a small smile, and she looked at the back of the couch fondly. "You're welcome. And stay safe." With that she left for the morgue.

Sherlock stayed still for about 3 minutes before his eyes snapped open again. He got up and did a cursory scan of the sitting room and what he could see of the kitchen, reaffirming what he knew about Molly Hooper.

Except, for some reason, the entire place smelled faintly of Omega pheromones. The scent had been even more potent fabric of the couch, which was strange, because Molly was the only that had sat there for the past few months.

Sherlock looked around the room again, then towards the couch, and then at the door that he determined led to her bedroom. He smirked.

Well. There was always the one thing, wasn't there?


	2. Chapter 2

**Everything belongs to BBC except the storyline. **

**A/N: Thanks for the review, faves, and follows :) This chapter is rated M, I don't think its incredibly racy though. Again, this one is not Beta'd, so please forgive me for any spelling or grammatical mistakes you find. I'll try to upload when I can, but it depends on the existence of writer's block, so...**

**Criticism is welcome, but please be kind. **

Chapter 2

Despite giving his younger brother cases to work (he used that term loosely) on, Mycroft Holmes had far better deductive abilities than the infamous _Consulting Detective_. This was fact which both Sherlock and their Mummy knew. So it was to Sherlock's great irritation that Mycroft continued to insinuate that he was a virgin, making almost everyone believe the lie.

Sherlock had, at the age of 15, discovered how… agreeable… being an Alpha could be, in the library with Alice Allaire during their school lunch hour. A few days later, he then observed firsthand how attached Alice could get, which was swiftly taken care of when he announced that girls weren't his area.

He hadn't thought it would work, but then decided not to look the gift horse in the mouth. It was amazing how incredibly effective that one phrase was in turning off female attentions, and soon became something he said quite regularly whenever relationships were the topic of conversation.

It didn't mean it was true though. At first, he was like the other boys in his class, at attention whenever an Omega about to go in heat walked by. He quickly found that he only had to look at a girl and say a few choice words, and then she would do just about anything for him.

Something he took full advantage of.

At least, until the first time he took cocaine. During that period of his life when getting high became an imperative, his need to fuck almost died completely. Afterwards, when he quit for good, he decided the only pleasure he really needed was the adrenaline rush from solving a case.

It didn't really work that way – Sherlock was still male, after all. So whenever the biological urge to procreate struck him, he went out and fulfilled it with someone who looked pretty enough. When he was done, he'd return to his flat and take up a new case.

SHMH*

Of course Molly counted, didn't she see? Who else would have allowed him uninterrupted access to the morgue, and very conveniently looked the other way when he nicked body parts for his experiments?

Not only that, Molly always came back even after he'd say things that were, in John's words, a bit not good. Of course, most of that was due to her long-standing crush, but lately that seemed to be fading away into the background, leaving them in a curious type of friendship.

Which was something Sherlock was rather grateful for, because it wouldn't have mattered if Sherlock wanted to bed her in return; she was a Beta, after all. And so he took the unexpected reprieve from her passion and ran with it.

It was working so well too, until Molly helped him die.

He looked back at the past few hours as they slowly stumbled up to Molly's flat. He was fairly certain that had he asked John instead, there would have been many more questions and _emotions_. Molly had been quite the opposite, staying incredibly calm, especially when one considered what he had asked her to do.

And suddenly, Molly was _interesting_.

It had been completely unexpected and therefore gained Sherlock's attention. But then, considering how she was no longer smitten by him, he supposed it wasn't entirely surprising.

He felt a quick pulse under his trousers.

Not surprising. It was, however, arousing.

But Molly was a Beta. Whatever his current desires were – and there was no mistaking those dark fantasies bouncing off the walls of his mind palace – he needed to keep control over himself. He didn't have the ability to act on them, _'Not with Molly at least,'_ Sherlock thought as they reached her door.

When he entered her flat, the first thing he registered was how clean everything seemed. Not orderly, with magazines and books stacked on the floor, overfilled shelves, and a haphazard throw over an armchair, but clean nonetheless. There wasn't any dust or dirty dishes waiting to be cleaned. That was predictable; she did work in a morgue, after all. Obviously the sterile environment she worked in translated a bit to her personal life as well.

The next thing he noted was the smell. It was a combination of Molly, perfume, lemons, and, for some reason, a very faint Omega scent. Sherlock dismissed it quickly, _'probably a friend who stopped by,_' he decided.

When he fell back onto the couch, however, the scent was stronger, as if embedded on the fibers of the fabric. He went over the layout of Molly's flat in his mind as she looked at his wounds again. When that didn't help, he took a quick glance at the couch he was sitting on when Molly was turned away. There was nothing there that suggested anyone had been over to her flat in some time.

But that _scent_...

He could feel himself beginning to react to it.

Why would that scent be here?

Molly said something about leaving and coming back, interrupting his reverie. While he responded, it occurred to him that Molly might simply tell him if he inquired. He almost asked too, but there was something niggling at the back of his mind, something that said he had seen it but missed it.

What was he missing? He watched Molly look around her flat. _'When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.'_ Molly lived alone, had lived alone for a long time. The state of her flat suggested she hadn't had company for a while. Her flat was in one of the safer parts of London, and with Mycroft's men watching her under Sherlock's request, no one else would have been able to enter her flat. The only person who had been in the flat before tonight was –

Oh.

Whatever Molly had been saying died in her throat when she turned to look back at Sherlock. When she began again, Sherlock watched her intently, studying her movements, facial expressions, and speech.

He laid down a few moments later, and waited for her to leave the building before getting up again. Sherlock looked around her flat, and then made his way to her bedroom.

SHMH*

Where the scent was faint in the rest of her flat, there was no mistaking its presence in her bedroom. Sherlock froze for a moment when he opened the door, but then grinned as he walked in. He felt himself harden as his eyes lingered on Molly's bed. He went over and laid down, letting out a low groan as he buried his face in her sheets.

It was mouthwatering.

But this wasn't where most of that _delightful_ scent was coming from. He turned his head, eyes narrowed, and looked around the room, before focusing on a chest of drawers on the opposite wall. He made his way over, stared at the drawers for a few seconds longer, and then pulled open the second to the bottom drawer.

Molly had some rather interesting underwear. There were quite a few white cotton pairs, but then off to the side and somewhat buried under the rest were a few lacier sets.

And under all of that were a few Omega-specific toys. Sherlock groaned loudly this time as he held one to examine. It smelled entirely of Molly and Omega and he was becoming harder by the second. He stared at the knot on the dildo and imagined Molly writhing on her bed. And then he imagined Molly writhing under him on her bed.

He groaned again. Molly had quite a bit to explain when he got back.

Which reminded him: he did have to leave soon. There was a network that needed to be taken down, and that wouldn't be accomplished if he stayed here, no matter how tempting that idea suddenly was.

He looked consideringly at the dildo, and then slipped it into his coat pocket before walking out of her bedroom and into the kitchen. Sherlock opened her fridge and began eating anything he could find that didn't require cooking or assembly as he waited for his erection to go down. Once settled, he took one last look around her flat, smirked, and left.

SHMH*

When Molly returned to an empty flat that night, it was to discover that her fridge was missing half of the food that was there that morning. With a sigh, she quickly showered, changed her clothes, and made a note to go to Tesco before heading to bed.

As she settled in, Molly thought something felt slightly off. She stayed awake for a few minutes, trying to decipher what was different, when she noticed it smelled a bit like an Alpha.

Molly's forehead furrowed, before smoothing itself as she went to sleep. _'He probably fell asleep here. The couch couldn't have been comfortable.'_

At Tesco the next morning, Molly's phone went off. She looked down at the display, only to see a text from a number she didn't recognize. She opened it, and then stared.

**Femurs are stronger than concrete.**

'_What?'_

That had to be the most bizarre text she ever received. On her way back to her flat, she was still deciding whether or not she should ignore it when another message from the same number came through.

**No need to reply. I'm still alive.**

The only person who would tell her something like that would be Sherlock, but he had said that it wouldn't be safe –

Another text message came on her phone, but this time it was from a different number she didn't recognize… except her phone identified it as Mycroft Holmes.

Molly didn't have Mycroft's number. Or at least, she wasn't supposed to. She couldn't recall any time in which it could have possibly gotten on her phone, for she certainly never asked for it. In fact, her experiences with the elder Mr. Holmes extended to less than a handful of meeting with him, most recently while they were planning Sherlock's death, and John telling her about Mycroft's control over CCTV.

**Do not fret, Dr. Hooper. It is indeed Sherlock. – MH.**

Molly stopped walking and looked up at a CCTV camera across the street. She watched as it moved up and down a few times before pointing away. The same happened to the other two cameras she could see on the street.

Slightly unnerved, Molly continued to her flat.

SHMH*

Sherlock smirked as he pocketed his new phone. He looked at the warehouse he had spent the night in. There were traces of Moriarty's work, but the state of the building indicated it had long since been abandoned.

Sherlock slipped into his mind palace and stored this information away. When he finished that task, his mind then wandered to Molly.

She became an intriguing puzzle. Why did she pretend to be a Beta? How had she managed to even get away with it? When did the deception start? How many Alphas had she knotted with?

That last question seemed to be the most pressing of all. The scent from her room indicated that she wasn't bonded. That didn't mean she hadn't been knotted before, though Sherlock hadn't smelled even a faint Alpha scent in her flat. It made him rather relieved. Molly was _his_ friend, his pathologist.

And if everything worked out like planned, she would be much more. He grinned and pictured Molly under him again, moaning his name, wrapping her legs around him and begging him for more while he fucked her into the mattress. Sherlock groaned, reached down to release his straining cock from his pants, and stroked himself to completion.

The sooner he took down the Network, the sooner he'd take Molly.


	3. Chapter 3

**The characters belong to BBC, I can only claim the storyline.**

**A/N: Thanks again for all the faves and follows and support! This chapter is rated M. The next chapter will most likely start with Sherlock meeting Molly, not a continuation of the last scene of this chapter. Again, this wasn't beta'd, so please excuse any spelling or grammatical or continuity errors. I tried my best to catch them all. **

**Criticism is always welcome, but please be kind.**

Chapter 3

Every day Molly continued to get a new text from Sherlock. While she was relieved that he was still alive, the messages themselves were almost always about the most useless things. It was a wonder that Sherlock, who hadn't known that the Earth went around the Sun, even knew all that information, and stranger still that he was telling them to Molly.

**Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.**

**Genuine pearls melt in vinegar.**

**Moths cannot fly during an earthquake. **

And on it went. Honestly, a simple update on his well-being would have sufficed.

Months later, Molly received a small package at her flat, marked only by her name and address printed on the front. A small note card was placed on top and upon opening it she saw a scribbled message in Sherlock's handwriting.

**Pearlescence is found in fish scales. **

'_What?'_ It was another seemingly random fact about… she didn't even know what it was supposed to be about. Curious, she opened the package only to see a case of 3 lipsticks, all an identical shade of red. It was a popular brand as well, but not something Molly would have spent extra quid on.

Why would Sherlock send her lipstick? He never commented about it, except for that one time in the morgue. She stared at the card again.

While she continued to debate what it meant, her phone relayed a new text from Sherlock.

**It is also an ingredient in your previous lipstick. **

Molly ran for her bathroom and fumbled with the few lipsticks she had stored there. There were no ingredient lists on them, but they were all under the same brand, so she went to her computer and looked them up.

They all had pearlescence listed there. She stared at her laptop display and then went back to the package Sherlock had sent. She flipped the box set over and read its ingredients as well, knowing full well as she did so that pearlescence wouldn't be listed.

That had been rather thoughtful of him, hadn't it?

Her phone buzzed again.

**You're welcome, by the way. **

Exactly how was she supposed to say "Thank you" if she wasn't to text him back?

She rolled her eyes and made her way back to her bathroom, replacing her old lipsticks with the new set.

SHMH*

Sherlock smirked. He felt quite accomplished.

It had absolutely nothing to do with thoughtfulness.

Ever since he left Molly's flat, his dreams had progressively became more vivid. In the beginning, it was the same scene over and over again, with Molly under him as he pounded into her on her bed. But then it changed from her bed to her sitting room floor, and then to her couch. Then he imagined her draped over the couch in different ways. And _that_ led him to think about all the different ways he could fuck her and where, including some positions that might defy the laws of physics.

Sherlock could be creative when the occasion called for it.

It had gotten to the point where he began pulling moments with Molly from his mind palace to view again. Among them were the first time they met, meetings in the hospital cafeteria, and working near each other in the morgue. None of these occasions were particularly exceptional by themselves apart from Molly's reactions to his presence – her squeaks, her stutters, and asking him out for coffee.

This time, though, Sherlock changed those moments in his mind by altering his own reactions. Every new scenario always included invading her personal space before falling into debauchery.

One of his more memorable fantasies centered on the day Molly asked him out for coffee. This time her lipstick was removed in a completely different fashion: by her pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, streaking it in red.

Molly didn't own the right shade of red though, so the easiest solution would be to send some to her and make sure she didn't touch the other lipsticks again. A quick search on his phone gave him the perfect reason for her to accept it.

That was one goal completed. The next would be to make that fantasy a reality.

Sherlock frowned. He knew it wouldn't be that simple. Somewhere along the path of their relationship, Molly had decided she wasn't romantically interested in him anymore, and instead relegated herself to just being a friend. She had filled that role admirably too, especially when he needed her most.

But Sherlock needed her to become infatuated with him again, and he had no idea how to go about it. Additionally, he knew that whoever previous knotted with Molly would only have been able to do so if Molly had considering bonding with him. The thought of her bonded to someone else made him snarl.

Sherlock wouldn't oppose being bonded to Molly though.

The constant moving around and tracking down criminals and only being able to truly converse with Mycroft for months on end was driving him mad with loneliness. Yes, he didn't like most people, but that didn't mean he wanted to be alone. Being in anyone's company right then would have been preferable to being by himself.

Not Anderson, though. _'Never that idiot.'_

He knew John had begun to move on, met a nice girl; according to Mycroft, it seemed this had a good chance of being a viable relationship. John would be occupied with his girlfriend, or perhaps even wife, leaving Sherlock alone again.

Sherlock had been determined to deny his biological desire for a mate until his dreams changed. They still featured Molly in a variety of positions (and locations, for that matter). Although now, there would always be some point in the dream where Molly would turn her head and bare her neck for him, in a plea to be bitten.

It made Sherlock realize that he didn't want to simply suck or nip at it. Given the opportunity, Sherlock wanted the sink his teeth in and _mark_ her. He wanted to show everyone that she was taken, and that she was _his_.

The thought of Molly wearing his mark made him quickly harden. He looked down at himself with a frown, and then readjusted himself. Now was not the time to take care of it, not when he was so close to unveiling a new Network associate.

'_Soon,'_ he promised himself. It wouldn't be long before he came home again, and then he'd find Molly.

SHMH*

John opened the door to his flat and froze. Directly in front of him was a man who looked incredibly like Sherlock, except a) John knew Sherlock had died, and b) the man in front of him was currently sporting a beard.

"Hello J–"

John punched the man in the face and then promptly went back inside and slammed the door behind him as Sherlock fell to the floor. This – this was too much. That voice belonged to Sherlock, he _knew_ it belonged to Sherlock. God knew there were times when he wished that voice would just shut up.

There was no doubt in John's mind that the man outside was Sherlock. No one else could be as arrogant and egotistical as to die and then turn up alive over a year later.

Jesus, his heart felt like it was going give out any moment now.

Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was alive. Sherlock was –

John was going to kill him. He retrieved his gun from the side table and pointed it at the door.

He heard Sherlock call out, "I realize you're upset –"

"Oh, I'm not upset!"

"I need to explain –"

"I SAW YOU DIE! I WAS THERE!"

There was a slight pause after that statement. John heard Sherlock clear his throat. "I know. May I come in?"

John glared at the door for a few moments, before answering, as calmly as he could, "Go ahead. It's open."

"Will you put your gun down?"

"You know, I don't think I will."


	4. Chapter 4

**The characters are the property of BBC.**

**A/N: Thank you all again for the reviews, faves, and follows! As I was writing this chapter, I noticed Sherlock was becoming a bit OOC, but I didn't really know how to fix it without moving away from where I wanted this to go. I'm very sorry if you thought so too, and I shall endeavor to have him back to his arrogant deducing self by the next chapter. Also, Irene doesn't exist in this story, but that may be liable to change. I don't think it will though.**

**Also, this chapter was again not beta'd, so please excuse any spelling or grammatical or continuity errors. **

**This chapter is rated M. Criticism is always welcome, but kind suggestions are valued more. **

Chapter 4

Molly had been examining the insides of a Mr. Bradley when she received her daily text from Sherlock.

**Bring your suture kit to your flat.**

This was the first time he hadn't texted her some bizarre fact. Why on earth would she need to bring a suture kit home?

Wait. Was he back in London?

Molly wanted to text him back but she still hadn't been given an all clear to do so. She sighed in frustration. If he was seriously injured, then hopefully he would go to the A&E. With any luck, he would not be bleeding all over her couch when she got back home.

At the end of her shift, Molly left her office and made her way to the locker rooms. Opening her own locker, she looked up into the mirror attached to the back of it and shrieked when she saw Sherlock's face over her shoulder.

She swung around and pressed herself back into the locker, a hand pressed over her heart. Sherlock watched her, the corner of his mouth curled in amusement.

"Hello, Molly," came his deep voice.

Before she could stop herself Molly ran over and hugged him, and then heard him give a slight grunt. She quickly looked up and saw him grimace. Molly felt her cheeks flare from embarrassment. _'Right, hugging is too much.'_ She pulled away with a stumbled apology.

Sherlock scowled at her. "Don't be ridiculous, Molly. My side hurts, that all."

Molly gave him a once-over. He was standing in a bit of a slouch, which was a far cry from his normally excellent posture. And his jaw was turning purple. "What happened?"

He grimaced again. "I met with John. He was a bit more upset than I had anticipated."

Oh, so they met before he came here. Good, good. "Er… I was talking about your side, actually."

"Again, John was more upset than I had anticipated."

Molly stared at him, nonplussed.

"He shot me."

"_What?!"_

"The sutures are no longer necessary. John stitched me up himself after an hour or so."

How did someone respond after a statement like that? She worked her mouth as she tried to figure out what to say.

"You look like a fish. It is not your most attractive look."

Molly's mouth snapped shut at that, more confused than before. While that sentence wasn't a compliment, it wasn't really an insult either. Or at least, it wasn't up to the level of his usual repertoire of insults. "…Are you ok?"

"Still in pain, obviously."

"No, I meant –"

"I know. I've finished everything that I set out to do. John's still in a bit of shock, but he'll come around eventually. Also, Mrs. Hudson had a bit of a fainting spell but she's alright now. And," his eyes softened slightly, "it's good to see you again, Molly." He gave her a small smile. "Thank you, again, for your help."

To Molly's disbelief, Sherlock shifted his stance a little before slightly opening his arms. He looked at her expectantly.

Sherlock wanted a hug.

Sherlock Holmes wanted physical contact. From her.

It was exceedingly odd but Molly decided to just go with it. She had missed him, with his long Belstaff, his snarky comments, his stupid coffee, and his incredibly brilliant deductions. She stepped into him again and carefully wrapped her arms around him, mindful of his injury. Molly felt his arms come around her waist. She smiled into his chest. "I missed you, Sherlock." Sherlock tightened his hold around her in reply.

Molly started to pull back only to discover that she could barely move away. Sherlock's arms had become like steel, holding her tighter and closer. Molly fidgeted a bit, trying to give him a hint to let go. Instead, Sherlock pulled her flush against him and held her there.

"Erm… Sherlock?" She tried to move around and then quickly froze. In her struggle she had brushed against the front of Sherlock's trousers and felt his hardened member.

Sherlock's voice dropped an octave. "You lied to me."

Puzzled, Molly looked up at Sherlock only to find him looking back at her, his eyes smoldering. Her mouth went dry and it took her a few seconds before she could speak. "I-I don't –"

He bent his head slightly so he could bury his nose in her hair. "I can smell it on you, Molly. It's faint, but it's there."

He leaned down further so that his mouth was by her ear. _"Omega,"_ he murmured. He gently nuzzled her earlobe before he began sucking on it.

Molly whimpered softly and clutched at his shoulders. No one had done this to her before and oh, did it feel nice. Really, pretending to be a Beta could only limit you to other Betas, and most of them would never –

Molly froze, staring unseeingly at the wall over Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock knew. No one in her professional life knew she was an Omega and now here was Sherlock –

She had been so careful though! Every current record about her said 'Beta' on it, she took the suppressant every day, she even made the suppressants in an empty lab! Everyone she had dated was a Beta – with the exception of Jim, but he had told her he was a Beta at the time – and she made sure to always be on a week-long holiday during her heats.

And now Sherlock knew and – oh, what a talented mouth he had.

Two years ago this would have been a fantastic development. There was a time when Molly would dream that he would come and declare his undying love and they would live happily ever after. But a long and consistent pattern of fake compliments to give him access to something and then rude dismissals right after had disillusioned her to that hope. Besides, Molly couldn't recall if he hadn't even shown interest in anyone, ever.

That brought her to another point. If you had asked her then, Molly would have said Sherlock was asexual. Or else gay; while he didn't give any indication of it himself, his relationship with John spoke volumes.

Sherlock moved from her ear down to her neck and began drawing patterns on it with his tongue. Molly's breath caught in her throat and she unconsciously moved her head over, giving him more access. He growled in approval, which finally broke Molly out of her haze. She tried shoving him back even though she knew it was futile. Alpha males were incredibly strong, especially when pitted against an Omega.

At that moment she remembered his side injury. She brought her hands to his sides and began pushing at different parts of his torso, looking for the tender spot. All she had to do was find it and press it…

Once she had pushed against every part of his upper body with no success, Molly finally managed to get a hold of herself and pushed her head over, effectively blocking Sherlock and his tongue. Put out, he gave her enough room to take a small step back but kept his arms around her. She looked up at him and whispered, "I thought you said you were in pain."

He smirked. "I am in pain. My jaw's been bothering me for a while now."

"But you said your side hurt."

"I lied." His smirk grew.

Molly narrowed her eyes. "John didn't shoot you?"

"He tried. Normally he's an excellent marksman but I anticipated when and where he would shoot and stepped out of the way, missing the bullet entirely. His wall, however, was not as fortunate."

Molly stared up at him, trying to process what she just heard. "The – The suture kit –"

"Lied about that too. It was more of a contingency plan anyway."

Molly shuddered and leaned back, trying to get out of his embrace. His arms didn't budge. "Let go of me," she mumbled.

He pulled her closer instead. "No." Sherlock began grounding against Molly, letting her feel how hard he was.

Molly closed her eyes as she bit her lip in an attempt to stifle a moan. She could feel herself getting wet. "Sh-Sherlock, th-this can't… I-I-I… we shouldn't be –" Molly broke off as she felt one of his hands grab her at her arse and try to pull her even closer. This time she couldn't hold back her moan. "W-wait… don't…"

"Why?" he asked huskily. He gently nudged her face with his own. "Look at me, Molly," he commanded.

Molly slowly opened her eyes and blinked up at him. She almost staggered back when she saw the look in Sherlock's eyes. It was the same look she had seen on so many other Alphas when they went after Omegas. It was because of that look that she had decided to pretend to be a Beta.

She wanted an Alpha who was committed to her, who wanted to bond with her. Sherlock was beautiful and brilliant and a walking wet dream, but that was all. Molly had resigned herself to this when she decided it was time to drop her romantic feelings for him. He was temperamental, arrogant, and dismissed people he didn't consider important as if they were fruit flies. Sherlock also loved his work, she knew, and he would have probably thought a bond mate would only be a nuisance.

Then again, she had also believed he wasn't interested in the fairer sex, but look at him now.

Look at _her_ now, for that matter. Her dad had told her to be with someone who would bond with her, and she had followed that bit of advice as best as she could. Following this path with Sherlock would be doing the exact opposite.

She needed to tell Sherlock that she wanted a bond mate and not a meaningless shag, except her mouth refused to cooperate with her. All it seemed capable of doing at the moment was gasping as Sherlock continued to move against her.

He let out a soft groan. "I can smell how wet you are. I want to taste you." Molly's eyes widened and she let out another whimper. "You want this, Molly. Tell me you want this so I can taste you. Tell me you want me to eat you."

Molly shuddered again. Her mind and her body were warring with each other, wanting to either push him away or pull him closer. She wanted her hands to pound against his chest but her fingers decided to wrap themselves in his coat lapels. She wanted her legs to run away but her feet stayed firmly planted where they were.

Sherlock leaned in to her, his mouth a hairbreadth away from hers. "I want to knot you. I want to feel your heat wrapped around my cock. Wouldn't you like that, Molly?"

Molly moaned loudly. _'Oh God, yesyesyes that would be so lovely.'_

He hadn't moved away from her. "Tell me, Molly."

'_I want this. I want him.'_ Molly opened her mouth and was about to answer when Sherlock turned his head to the door. He turned back around a moment later and his lustful stare was quickly replaced with an irritated frown.

In a low murmur, he told her, "I'll call you a cab to Baker Street. Don't keep me waiting" With that he turned around and made his way to a side window, opening it and throwing his legs over. He looked back at her one more time and gave her an intense glance before jumping out.

Baffled, Molly wondered about Sherlock's abrupt departure when she heard the clicking sound of heels coming from the hallway and going towards the locker room. Molly ran over to her locker and was yanking her lab coat off when the door opened and a few hospital workers came in. Molly nodded and smiled to them in greeting, waiting for them to go to their lockers, all thankfully in another isle, before leaning against her own.

Molly needed to think, but first she needed a shower and a change of knickers.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks again for the reviews, faves, and follows :) Sorry this took a bit longer than usual. Thanks for continuing to read, I'm actually surprised anyone made it this far. **

**Again, this chapter was not beta'd, so please excuse any spelling, grammatical, or continuity errors. This chapter is rated M. Warnings: Slight dub-con.**

**Criticism is always welcome, but please be polite. **

Chapter 5

Molly stood stock-still in the shower, mentally slapping herself. What on earth had that been? Sherlock had been on the verge of convincing her to sleep with him. Sherlock. The same Sherlock who would probably never bond to anyone.

All Alphas desired sex, but not all Alphas wanted to be bonded. Bonding was a big deal, even bigger than marriage in some places. Many people considered it one and the same, because you were expected to settle down with your bond mate and stay together for life. Molly had never seen Sherlock stay still in one place unless he was staring through his microscope or that one time she saw him go to his mind palace. And he was always moving around, courting danger, rushing off to another country if he thought the case was interesting enough.

Sherlock Holmes, settle down? The idea was laughable.

Molly didn't know what he'd actually been doing while he was gone, but she assumed Sherlock had been running around the country nonstop, focused solely on catching criminals and giving no thought to his biological needs whatsoever. The man went without food and sleep often enough, and those were actually necessary for survival. But he always seemed to be hungry once a case closed and, according to John, he slept like the dead afterwards.

Once you considered that, it made a strange sort of sense that he would act this way around Molly. His longest case had just wrapped up, which meant he would need to catch up on the things he missed. He had to have been eating and sleeping, seeing as he wasn't dead, but he had probably shut off his biological urge to mate during his absence from London. Now that he was back, the urge had probably struck him and he set out to find an Omega he knew to relieve himself.

How did Sherlock even know she was an Omega though? Consulting Detective or not, she had been so sure that he hadn't the faintest clue before his 'fall.' It had been one of the few things she was proud of, being able to pull the wool over his eyes.

However, no matter how he found out, the most important part was that he knew. He knew and now he expected her at Baker Street to continue their… _conversation_.

Molly exited the shower and tried to clear her head as she dressed. He had been so dominating and it was so wonderful and it was probably the best 5 minutes she had ever experienced, but Molly was sure that whatever they were doing wouldn't last. Sherlock would eat his fill – metaphorically speaking, though probably literally too – and then leave when he got bored.

And that would make Molly break. What happened with him earlier made it abundantly clear to her that the feelings she thought she had buried had resurfaced with a vengeance.

Her mind made up, Molly left the locker room and purposely avoided the door she usually left from, walking to the other side of the hospital where the ambulances pulled in. Once she arrived outside, Molly looked around furtively before quickly making her way to her flat. It would take her an extra 10 minutes, but she would be able to avoid Sherlock and give herself time to think.

SHMH*

Molly had just sat down to eat a late dinner when she heard someone knocking on her door. She went over and looked into the peephole before stumbling back in shock.

"Molly," she heard him growl.

Molly's voice refused to work. The last thing she expected was Sherlock coming after her. Maybe if she stayed quiet, he would think she wasn't home –

"I can hear you. Open the door."

Molly racked her mind for an excuse. "I-I'm not feeling well –"

"You're lying. _Open the door._"

Molly's breathing turned heavier. "This can't… you shouldn't be here, Sherlock."

"You're right," his voice filtered in. "I should be at Baker Street _with you_. So do tell me why you aren't there, Molly."

Molly took a deep breath to steady herself. "I'm a bit tired and –"

Sherlock interrupted her, his voice deeper than before. "As am I. Open the door so we can go to bed."

She could feel herself beginning to get wet. She needed to make him to leave before he managed to convince her to open the door. "Please Sherlock, I just… I just need to think on things for a bit. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Molly waited for an answer. When none came, she slowly moved back to the peephole and realized Sherlock had left.

Molly couldn't decide if she was glad or disappointed. Too out of sorts to eat anymore, she abandoned her dinner and went to undress for bed, stripping down to her knickers and pulling on a long oversized football shirt before sliding into bed.

She stared at her ceiling. No matter how much she'd like Sherlock to drop the matter for good, Molly didn't doubt that he'd confront her soon. She needed a solid argument against sleeping with him, one that would make Sherlock leave her alone. The only real reason she had at the moment was that she wanted to be knotted by her bond mate, but who knew when that was going to happen. She wasn't getting any younger, and pretending to be a Beta wasn't exactly helping matters.

Not that some Betas weren't perfectly nice men. She had dated quite a few but usually ended it before things got intimate. Molly had learned through experience how unfulfilling sex with a Beta was when you craved a knot instead.

Sherlock had a knot. She bet it was a beautiful knot too.

'_Stop it, brain!'_ It was too late though, and Molly started getting wet again. She rolled over and looked at the drawer where she kept her toys. The toy she wanted tonight had gone missing a while back and none of the others seemed worth the effort. Sighing, Molly got out of bed and decided to watch telly until she could fall asleep.

She flipped on the light to the sitting room and felt her heart jump into her throat as she stared at her couch. There, lying on his back just as he had after the 'fall,' was Sherlock, minus his Belstaff and suit jacket. He had been staring at her ceiling as well but his eyes swiveled over to her when the light came on.

Neither of them said anything. The silence between them stretched for a few more moments before Sherlock closed his eyes and loudly inhaled, sniffing the air. His eyes snapped open and look at her again, his eyes steadily getting darker. He gave her a smirk. "You smell wonderful. Will you taste that way as well, or better?" He sat up. "Come here, Molly."

She didn't move. "How- how did you get in?"

"Picked your lock. I said _come here_."

Molly took a step back instead. "I was going to bed. How did you know I'd come to the sitting room?"

Sherlock stood up and slowly walked to Molly as she walked back even more, trying to maintain a bit distance between them. "Actually I was waiting for you to start pleasuring yourself with one of your toys –"

Molly's eyes widened. _'How does he know about those?'_

" – and I was in the middle of debating between whether I should stay out here and listen or join you in your bed." By this point Molly had backed herself against her wall. Sherlock came upon her before she could move away, placing his hands against the wall on both sides of her body and leaning in closely. "I've asked to come to Baker Street, I've asked you to open your door, and just now I asked you to come to the couch. You have done none of these."

'_You didn't ask, you demanded._' Molly tried to look away but was caught in his gaze. "I don't want to do this," she said almost inaudibly.

Sherlock's eyes darkened even further as he slid one of his arms from the wall to around her waist. "You're also lying more often. You're not very good at it, you know." His other hand began descending down her body. "I could smell your desire from the couch." Molly squeaked when his hand pressed against her through her knickers.

"You're knickers are soaked through," Sherlock rasped. He began moving his hand in circles and watched Molly squirm against it. "It feels good, doesn't it?"

Molly mewled in agreement. Her eyes closed and her hands rose up to clutch against Sherlock's shoulders as his arm tightened around her waist.

"Look at me, Molly."

Molly slowly opened her eyes. She tilted her head up to Sherlock just as his own head swooped down and his mouth met hers. He kissed her softly at first, his eyes watching hers, gauging her reaction. When he felt her relax a bit, Sherlock deepened the kiss, thoroughly tasting her mouth. He kept their lips connected until oxygen became a necessity, and then kissed her again after they took a few breaths.

Molly was so distracted by his kisses that she wasn't aware of Sherlock pulling her away from the wall. She finally realized it when she felt herself falling onto her couch, Sherlock climbing on top of her. He kissed her again and then moved to her neck, licking at her pulse point. Molly ran her hands through his hair and unconsciously cocked her legs open, letting Sherlock settle between her thighs. He moved slightly against her before pulling back a little.

"I want to taste the rest of you. Will you let me Molly?" His hand traveled back to her entrance, this time slipping inside her knickers. Molly pressed herself against it, trying to gain more friction. His fingers brushed against her clit and quickly pulled back.

"Please, Sherlock…" Molly whined.

Sherlock stilled his hand, causing Molly to cry out in frustration. "What, Molly? Tell me what you want."

"You, Sherlock, you! I want you!" Molly pleaded. She almost sobbed in relief when Sherlock thrust his fingers into her. He moved his hand rapidly as his thumb flicked at her clit. Molly gasped and shuddered in bliss, and then let out a sound of displeasure when Sherlock pulled away from her. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he repositioned her body so that she sat up on the couch while he kneeled in front of her on the floor. In one quick move he yanked her knickers down and off.

Molly's breath hitched when she felt the cool air of her sitting room against her. Sherlock didn't give her time to adjust as he pulled her legs forward and open, moving her again until she sat at the edge of the cushion. He blew lightly against her and watched her jolt in reaction. He did it again a few more times before stopping completely and waiting for Molly to look at him again.

When she did, Sherlock buried his face between her legs. Molly bucked off the couch at the first stroke of his tongue, making Sherlock grab at her hips and hold them down as he continued.

She felt him lapping away at her, collecting her emissions as it slowly leaked out. Molly moaned loudly when his tongue entered inside her, wiggling around before exiting and then stabbing back inside. He tongue-fucked her at varying speeds, first slowly, then quickly and then slowly again, drawing out her pleasure as long as she could.

Sherlock moved his head slightly so he could nuzzle his nose against her clit. Molly bucked up again, feeling her orgasm building. Her hands came down and her fingers twined themselves into his hair, trying to pull him closer to her. She lifted her legs slightly, draping them over his shoulders as she felt his tongue swirl inside her. "Sherlock… please… so close…"

Sherlock moved back just enough that she would be able to hear him while his mouth still brushed against her center. "Tell me, Molly. Say the words."

Molly felt the vibrations of his voice against her and she trembled almost violently. "Please… let me come…," she gasped, and then she yelped as she felt Sherlock's tongue burrow back into her with a renewed vigor. When he pressed a finger inside her next to his tongue, Molly felt her orgasm break over her and she arched off the couch in pleasure, moaning incoherently. Sherlock kept himself between her legs, eating her like a starved man at a feast.

After what seemed like hours but was really only minutes, Sherlock pushed her legs off his shoulders and sat next to Molly on the couch. Molly looked him over. His hair was mussed from her fingers and his lips were glistening with her release. He moved closer to her.

"Kiss me," he commanded softly. Molly acquiesced, tasting herself on his mouth. They stayed there for a while, tongues playfully wrestling.

Molly pulled away when she felt Sherlock's hand at her slit once more. She gave him a questioning glance.

He smirked again. "You didn't think we were done, did you?"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait! I'll try not to let it happen again. Thanks again for the reviews, faves, and follows! All the appreciation has been a bit overwhelming really, and I'm very thankful you've all kept reading this. **

**This chapter is rated M. Again, this chapter was not beta'd, so please excuse any spelling, grammatical, or continuity errors you may find. I tried to catch all. **

**Reviews are always appreciated, but please be nice with the criticism. **

Chapter 6

Sherlock withdrew his fingers from inside Molly after she climaxed two more times. His hand traveled up her body and to her lips where Molly slipped his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them without prompting. Sherlock's other hand was busy groping one of her breasts, softly massaging it. Molly's legs unconsciously wrapped around him and he grinded against her center, causing her to softly mumble as the front of his trousers became steadily wet with her emissions.

Sherlock had lost his shirt some time ago and Molly switched between looking at his lust-filled eyes and staring at his sculpted chest. It was amazing how much he looked liked a Grecian statue with a torso carved out of marble. Her eyes dragged up to his neck, white and smooth with a vein throbbing at its side. She imagined how it would look with a purple bite marking it.

Marking.

Bonding.

Sherlock.

Molly shut her eyes as she felt him more insistently against her mound. His fingers slipped from her mouth and moved to his belt, undoing it swiftly and then working on the button of his trousers, his other hand pressing against the couch to hold himself up. Sherlock began kissing her throat and Molly's eyes snapped open and stared unseeingly at the wall.

Sherlock wanted to knot. Molly wanted something permanent and stable.

'Sherlock' and 'stable' did not mix. They were practically antonymous of each other.

With that in mind, Molly began to press against his chest, trying to get him to move back and away from her. Sherlock looked down at her and almost laughed. An Omega trying to move an Alpha with strength alone was nigh impossible. He took pity on her and slid a few inches away, watching her.

Molly gazed up at him, unsure of what to do next. _'Tell him you're tired. Tell him to leave!'_ But Molly's voice refused to work. Her eyes flickered down to his now very prominent bulge, straining against his pants. She wanted him to leave just as much as she wanted to see what his pants were covering.

When Molly didn't move, Sherlock leaned forward once more. His sudden shift forced Molly to snap out of it and push against him again, this time pushing him until his back rested against the couch. He craned his neck to observe her, eyes widening when Molly reached down and began easing his pants down his legs, leaving him bare. _'What am I doing?!'_ thought Molly, trying to will herself to stop.

She couldn't prevent herself from ogling. Oh, it was such a beautiful cock, long and thick and pale except for the darkened tip pointing at her. She slowly took hold of him at the base, adjusting her grip and watching Sherlock buck up. _'Stop it, hand!'_ Sherlock's hand came down around her own and began guiding it into action, pulling up and down and not letting go until Molly continued the movement on her own. His eyes closed involuntarily and his head fell back as he tried to stay silent under her ministrations.

It then occurred to Molly that Sherlock would be rather out-of-commission once he released a load. Under normal circumstances an Alpha could technically stay hard and ready for the duration of an Omega heat is he wanted to, no matter how many times he came. As Molly was not in heat at the moment, Sherlock would need time to recover after one ejaculation.

That didn't mean he had to come _inside_ her; her hand should do the job quite nicely, she hoped. Sherlock would just have to control his urge to knot.

That was easier said than done, for Sherlock had been determined to knot when he first approached Molly. In that moment itself Sherlock began pulling her body up to position himself to enter her. Molly, noticing this, began frantically squirming in his grasp. "Sherlock, wait! Stop!"

He gave a low groan. "Knot."

Molly began panicking. "No wait, I-I want to try something." She managed to wiggle out of his grasp and traveled down his body again.

"Enough," Sherlock growled. "I want to be inside you."

She couldn't think of anything to say to that statement. Clearly, just using her hand wasn't going to be enough. Before Sherlock could lift her up again, Molly hurriedly moved her head down and licked the head of his cock. Sherlock stilled. Molly raised her eyes to his and found him looking back at her, his face caught between surprise and bewilderment. She leaned down a bit more and licked him from base to tip, watching Sherlock's face contort to a grimace of pleasure.

Molly couldn't believe she was doing this. This was something she had fantasized about doing to Sherlock and his reactions were better than anything she had ever imagined. She had sucked off a few men before, all Betas, and they had all enjoyed it tremendously but none of them were this sensitive to her mouth. When Molly reached the tip of Sherlock's cock again, her tongue touched the slit there, sliding gently against it. The effect she received was instantaneous – Sherlock bucked up again, groaning loudly, as his hand came down on her head and wrapped her hair around his fingers.

Sherlock urged her head down, allowing the head of his cock to slip into her wet mouth. He continued to direct her, pushing and pulling her hair, forcing her to swallow as much of his as she could. Molly choked a few times, pulling back to breathe a bit before Sherlock pushed her down again. She began sucking on his pulls, swirling her tongue around and under the ridge of his penis.

"Molly… wait…"

She drew back, letting him slip out of her mouth. His cock was glistening from his pre-come and her saliva. She lapped at the tip slightly before giving it a small kiss. "I want to taste you too," she whispered, and with that she swallowed him again, sucking forcefully.

Sherlock lost himself to a haze of pleasure. He had been pleasured orally before but it had never felt this _good_. He hadn't known her mouth was this talented. Did other men know?

The thought of her performing this act for some other man made him angry. The desire to knot rose up again but he forced it down, knowing a mouth wouldn't be able to take its width. Instead he focused on just how wonderful her mouth was. Sherlock closed his eyes when he felt the familiar tightening in his bullocks and then cried out as he orgasmed, spurting into Molly's mouth.

Molly for her part swallowed as much of him down as she could. At one point the amount of come was too much and a bit dribbled out the side of her mouth for lack of room. He tasted a little bitter and salty but it was not altogether unpleasant, Molly thought as he slid out of her mouth. She sat up and looked at him and he laid there languidly, enjoying the release of endorphins.

Now her new challenge was to get him to leave, before he decided to stay until he recovered enough for round two.

She was saved from having to come up with a plan when they heard a soft 'Ping!' Sherlock lazily left the couch and walked stark naked to her coat rack where he rifled through the pockets of his suit jacket. He took out his phone and stared at the screen, frowning, before he put it back and set his sights on Molly. She noticed his eyes darkening once more and interrupted him before he could stalk back to her. "Who was it?"

"John," he muttered. "Wants to know where I am."

"Oh," she said, an idea forming. "He must be so worried." When he didn't respond, she continued. "You should probably go find him. Make sure he's alright."

Sherlock paused at that, his eyes clearing up a bit. "He's at the flat. Why wouldn't he be alright?"

"Well, you've been away for a long time Sherlock, and you've only just come back today, haven't you? It's still so very new, you being back, I mean. John might… be worried you're going to disappear again."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow when she had paused. The look on his face clearly said _'Pull the other one.'_ "Wouldn't you be just as worried then? You've not seen me for the same length of time as John has."

"Well, no, but…" _'Think, Molly!'_ "But… the last time John saw you, he thought you were dead. I knew you weren't dead and you've been texting me the whole time –" _'Good one!' _" – but John's had to move on with his life thinking he'd never see you again. And now you're back and he probably still needs to convince himself that it's all real."

He still didn't look like he believed her. "He saw me today, why would he need to see me again?"

Molly was having quite a bit of trouble forming her arguments when he was standing there starkers. "I – look, it's just, if I were John and you showed up in the middle of the day and then left a while later, I would think I'd imagined it all." Before Sherlock could say something about texting him, Molly frantically continued, "And I'd want to see you again, just to physically make sure you're real and not a delusion."

She held her breath as Sherlock seemed to be thinking this over. He was still eyeing her skeptically but after a long moment he gave a slight nod. "He always was overly emotional. Except when he was firing a gun."

He began picking up his strewn clothes and headed to her washroom. Once the door closed firmly behind him, Molly let out a quiet sigh of relief. She had only just found her knickers when the door opened again, Sherlock fully dressed albeit with a few wrinkles and his hair in disarray. He went over to her and leaned down, kissing her deeply. Molly let out a slight whimper.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to hers gently. "Good night, Molly." He paused a few seconds more before slowly getting up and straightening his jacket. Sherlock walked to the coat rack and pulled on his Belstaff before opening her front door. Just as he was leaving, he turned to face her again.

"You're shift ends early tomorrow. Let's have dinner." He gave her a peculiar smirk before walking out, the door closing behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

**The characters belong to BBC, I only take credit for the plot. **

**Sorry for the long wait! I've been extremely busy but I got inspired again by the recent trailer for Series 3 :)**

**Thank you for the reviews, the favorites, and the follows! It's really heartwarming to see so many people enjoy it. Please continue to keep commenting - I've read everything there and I'll try to keep some of them in mind as I continue to write. This chapter is rated M, nothing too scandalous in this chapter though. Again, this was not Beta'd, so please excuse any and all grammar, spelling, or continuity errors you may find. **

**Thanks again for reading and staying with this story for so long :)**

Chapter 7

Molly spent the majority of the next day thinking about the previous night. Her mind kept wandering to Sherlock's look of bliss and his pretty penis. She had been standing in front of her desk staring off into the distance when the morgue doors opened. She jumped out of her daze and looked over to see John walking towards her, his face grim.

She gave him a slight smile. "Hello John." He didn't reply, stopping in front of her and standing stiffly. He was frowning at her, she realized. Molly began to frown as well. What was wrong? He seemed almost angry at her, but she couldn't think of anything she had done to –

'_Oh. Right.'_ John knew about Sherlock, which meant he most likely knew about her role in the entire thing. She had withheld this information from John, who had come to her in what he thought was shared grief after Sherlock's funeral.

Molly had never really thought of how this conversation would go, how John would react when she admitted her duplicity. Apparently there wouldn't be a conversation, she reflected, as she tried and failed to say something, _anything_, that would explain what happened. The silence stretched between them as John glared at her and she looked at anywhere but him.

"I –"

"Why didn't you tell me?" came John's measured voice.

"I wanted to –"

"You knew this entire time and you never mentioned it once."

"I'm sorry!" she blurted out. "I wanted to tell you but Sherlock said it wasn't safe to tell anyone, and, and…" Molly sighed and dropped her head dejectedly. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you."

John looked her a moment longer before he also sighed. "No, it's… it's fine. Sherlock told me yesterday, but it still hasn't really sunk in, yeah? I thought about it a lot last night, and I think I might have done the same – not told you he was alive – if it had been me." He closed the distance between them and enveloped Molly in a hug. "Thank you," he murmured in her hair. "For being there for him." Molly hugged him back fiercely, grateful he had forgiven her so her quickly.

John was just about to pull away when he inhaled deeply and froze. As subtly as he could manage, he buried his nose slightly into Molly's hair and sniffed.

When Sherlock had come back to 221B last night, he had reeked of sex and Omega pheromones and something faintly familiar. When John asked him about it, Sherlock had promptly insulted Betas and overly-nosy cabbies in one breath before heading to the shower. John hadn't seen him again until this morning when he walked into the kitchen complaining about Mrs. Hudson's son. Sherlock proceeded to glare at John when John told him he was actually a nice bloke.

John had snorted and muttered something about typical Alpha behavior – they were normally incredibly ill-tempered around one another when unbonded – and left the flat to see Mary. It was only when he passed by Bart's that he remembered the Fall and went in to see Molly.

That smell though, the smell that had seemed familiar… it was Molly, John realized. It was Molly's natural scent. Which didn't explain why Sherlock smelled like – _'Wait.'_

'_Sherlock and Molly?'_

John's mind fizzled out as he tried to process what he had just stumbled upon. Molly felt the change that went through him and pulled away, trying to assess what was wrong. "John?"

He looked at her blankly. "You're an Omega?" Molly's face turned pale and then became red very quickly. John watched her in a sort of amused horror as he put the pieces together.

"I – that is to say –"

Try as he might, John couldn't recall a time when Sherlock had showed an interest in an Omega beyond a case. One of the peculiarities of his Alpha flatmate was the noticable lack of interest in mating. Women seemed to throw themselves at him sometimes but he always managed to side step them or insult them in return, both of which he did to Molly at one point in time. Although, Sherlock did have a thing about tearing down Molly's love life in particular.

'_Good God, how long has this been going on?!'_

"How long have you been seeing Sherlock?" John demanded, quickly cutting off whatever excuse she was saying.

"I – I'm not seeing him." Molly grimaced at John's incredulous look and tried again. "We're not together, I mean."

"Molly!" John said exasperated. "He came home last night smelling like you!" At this, Molly reddened even further. In her attempt to get Sherlock to leave last night, she had forgotten how potent their pheromones could be. Anyone who walked past Sherlock that night would have known what he had been doing from the scents emanating from him alone.

Molly looked at the floor, ashamed. "It was a one-off, really. You know Alphas." She gave a humorless laugh. "It won't be happening again." She ignored the voice in her head that reminded her of Sherlock's offer of dinner.

While a statement like that may have been applicable for Alphas in general, John knew it couldn't be applied to Sherlock. Something was off, he could feel it. Maybe… maybe Sherlock was interested in Molly? It'd be just like him too, that tosser, insulting a girl because he had feelings for her. But either he didn't tell Molly yet or he had but Molly didn't believe him. John was leaning more towards the former theory.

Now John had to decide if he wanted to help out his best mate or if he would rather watch it all unfold. "Will you be alright if you see him again? It's not like he won't be coming back to Bart's for his experiments or once he picks up cases again."

"Er… actually he wants to have dinner tonight."

'_He's definitely interested then.'_ "And you're going?"

"I wasn't really planning to, no." Molly mumbled.

John paused, debating with himself before deciding to help Sherlock along. "He likes you, you know." Molly's eyes shot up to his, widening. "I've never, in the entire time I've known him, seen him take an interest in an Omega like he has with you. He's even asked you to dinner!"

"He didn't ask. It was more like he decided for the both of us."

John snorted. "Of course he did, he's Sherlock after all. But I think he genuinely wants this, whatever this is between you two."

Molly swallowed. "Did he – did he tell you this?"

"He didn't have to, not really. He always goes on about people not looking, doesn't he? But when you do look, it's rather obvious." John gave her a kind smile. "It's rather obvious, Molly. You'd have probably noticed it too, had you really looked."

Molly thought back to all those texts he sent and the package of lipstick. Telling her he needed her. Telling her that she counted. The possibility was there but it still clashed with his behavior before Moriarty, before he knew she was an Omega. John could tell she still wasn't convinced. "Think of it as a schoolboy pulling on a girl's pigtails to get her attention. And he did tell you to stop dating that one time."

"I don't think this is why he said that though."

John didn't entirely think so either, but he wasn't about to tell Molly that. "Don't you? And he came to you out of everyone when he needed help the most."

It was something for Molly to consider. Was there something deeper there? Did Sherlock want a relationship with her or was she reading too much into it? "I don't know, John. I just need time to think about it, I guess."

John nodded. "Sure. Anyway, I best be off. I was on my way to Mary's. I'll see you around Molly." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "Oh, and good luck evading Sherlock tonight."

SHMH*

John returned back to Baker Street later that day to find Sherlock studying the screen of his laptop. "You've been here all day?"

Sherlock gave him a quick glance before turning back to the computer. He murmured his assent before he said, "You forgot the milk."

John paused on his way to the kitchen. "Milk?"

"And the biscuits. How do you manage to live without staple foods? Or does Mary 'feed you up'?"

"I didn't buy biscuits."

"Obviously."

"No, I mean I didn't go out to buy biscuits. Or milk!"

"Why not? I told you we ran out –"

"No you didn't –"

"– An hour ago. How are we to have tea?"

Well. It was nice to know some things would never change, no matter how irritating. "I wasn't _here_ an hour ago, you clot!"

"No, you were with Ms. Morstan an hour ago. That shouldn't have prevented you from popping into Tesco on your way back."

John could feel the familiar anger start up again but it was tapered by the relief he felt by just being able to talk to Sherlock. He rolled his eyes and continued into the kitchen, passing behind Sherlock on the way. He took a quick glance at the laptop and stopped again, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Research," Sherlock said.

"On how to remove skin from bones?"

"Hmm. Specifically a skull, but nothing seems to be that specific."

John looked down at him. "I wasn't aware you already took a case."

Sherlock opened a new link and continued reading. "Don't be dull, Lestrade doesn't know I'm alive. Or at least he didn't know until sometime today. Someone's bound to have informed him of my reemergence, that idiot of a cabbie was talkative enough."

"Then why – "

"Is it too much to believe I just want a skull?" Sherlock huffed.

"You HAVE a skull!" John said, pointing to the head that rested on their mantel for years. It, along with the vast majority of Sherlock's things, had remained unmoved from their original position since the Fall.

"New life, new skull." Sherlock closed the laptop and got up, striding into the kitchen.

John followed him and went to the fridge, looking at the paltry contents. He would have to go to Tesco tonight if he wanted to eat. _'Which reminds me.'_ "Don't you normally pilfer parts from Molly?"

"Normally. Though seeing as the skull in question is part a man who is very much alive, I doubt Molly would be able to assist in this instance."

John whirled around at that. "_What?!_"

Sherlock was standing with his back to him, looking at their wood block of knives. It had been a gift from Mary and was completely unnecessary seeing as John's culinary experience was limited to beans on toast and simple pasta. Sherlock sighed, "Morgues are for the dead, remember? Really, I'm gone for a year and you've forgotten all logic."

"Shut up! What do you mean, 'alive'?"

Sherlock picked up a knife and eyed the blade. "That moron downstairs."

It took John a second to realize who they were talking about. "Mrs. Hudson's son? He's a lovely chap!"

"He'll be even lovelier on the mantel." Sherlock put the knife back into its slot. "What sort of knife set doesn't come with a fillet knife?"

"SHERLOCK – "

Sherlock turned to face him, rolling his eyes. "Oh calm down, it was just a thought. Anyway it's not like he's done anything to deserve death," he said, heading to his bedroom. "Yet." he muttered under his breath as he closed the door.

John still heard him though. "Oh honestly, you only think so because you're an Alpha and an arsehole," he called to Sherlock. "Everyone else likes him."

"And who constitutes as 'everyone else'?" came Sherlock's muffled voice.

"Mary, Molly, Lestrade –"

Sherlock's door slammed open as he marched out, dressed in a pair of cleanly pressed trousers. "_Molly?_"

John's eyebrow rose as he tried to hold in a grin. He hadn't expected a reaction to that but it confirmed his suspicions. "What about Molly?"

Sherlock frowned. "Molly met him?"

"They're friends. They go out sometimes." The wording had been unintentional but the effect was humorous nonetheless. Sherlock was fully scowling now. "For coffee and… dinner."

Sherlock stared at him, trying to deduce if he was lying. He grew visibly upset when he decided that John was actually telling the truth. "How often?"

John shrugged. "How should I know? They're very… close, though." He had to turn around so Sherlock wouldn't see him smirking. When he turned back again it was to find Sherlock at his computer once more, ordering tickets to an opera playing that night. "You hate opera." There had been a case two years before that involved a dead opera singer, during which Sherlock complained to anyone who would listen about the absurdity of 'watching people screech off-key to a jejune plot.'

"Mrs. Hudson, however, enjoys opera. And as she is not currently seeing anyone and she has no one close enough to her to enjoy it with other than her son, it should take care of that imbecile's plans for the night." He emailed the tickets to her and then sent her a text to check her inbox, as well as a text to Molly regarding a time for their dinner plans. That done, Sherlock turned around to John with a self-satisfied smile. "So, when are you going to Tesco?"

SHMH*

As the clock approached 7, Sherlock called for a cab and headed downstairs to the front door. Just as he was leaving, he heard a shuffling in 221A and then heard the telly come on. It sounded like one of the programs Mrs. Hudson favored. Sherlock walked over and briskly knocked at the door, waiting impatiently until it opened and then staring at Mrs. Hudson when she appeared in the doorway.

"Oh hello Sherlock, was there something you needed?"

"Did you not check your email, Mrs. Hudson?"

She gave him a grateful smile. "Oh I did. Thank you for the tickets dear, but I told you I'm not angry with you anymore. I'm just happy you're safe."

Sherlock waved her words away. "Why didn't you go?"

"I rather feel I'm coming down with something. The soothers aren't working as well as they ought, I think. A shame the tickets were for tonight, I haven't seen the new show yet –"

"Where's your son?" Sherlock interrupted her.

"Oh, Ian went to the opera instead. I didn't want the tickets to go to waste after all. He left about an hour and a half ago, went to go pick up Molly I think he said –"

"_WHAT?_"

SHMH*

Molly hadn't known what to say to Sherlock's text, so she didn't respond at all. When Ian texted her an hour later about the opera, which would conveniently be that night, she readily jumped at the chance. He was a nice bloke and was incredibly easy to converse with, and he surprisingly wasn't off-put by her career choice.

It also gave her a chance to think more about her situation with Sherlock. Molly couldn't simply accept John's claims about Sherlock liking her; too many insults and fake compliments over the years wouldn't let her believe that. But no one knew Sherlock better than John, except perhaps Mycroft. It was possible then that Sherlock really did have a thing for her. _'Pulling pigtails indeed.'_

Mycroft would know for sure, but she couldn't imagine a conversation regarding his little brother's love life going over well.

Regardless, somewhere between last night and that moment, Molly had decided to give Alphas a go. She had come to accept that bonding might not be in her future, but that didn't mean she had to subject herself to lonely nights. She hadn't had a good lay in – well, she never had a good lay. The only other times she had sex were with Betas and while they were nice it always left her feeling like something was lacking. None of those nights compared to last night however. Sherlock hadn't even filled her and it was still the best night of her life.

Sherlock was the only Alpha she had been even slightly intimate with and it had been spectacular. If the biggest git in London could make her feel that way, why couldn't someone else? Molly knew that men changed from their adolescent attitudes when they grew up. There were quite a few gentlemen that were Alphas as well.

Ian, for example. Someone who had actually expressed disappointment that she was a Beta during one of their dinners. Someone who probably wouldn't run out on her after one night of passion, which was what she expected would happen with Sherlock should it go that far.

'_Last night wasn't passionate, was it? And he did ask you out for dinner tonight.'_

'_Shut up, brain!'_

And now here she was, sitting in a darkened theater halfway through the first act of the show, trying not to think about the powered-down cell phone in her clutch and the text from a curly-haired detective that would surely be waiting for her once she turned it on. Molly wasn't a particular fan of the opera so she welcomed the chance to let herself relax and let her mind wander. Every now and then she would steal a quick glance at Ian as she attempted to figure out a way to tell him about her Omega status. She had just about settled on a plan when the lights came on for intermission. Giving him a quick smile, she excused herself to the lavatory while he decided to go out and stretch his legs, both agreeing to meet back at their seats before the second act.

As she was exiting the wash room a few minutes later, Molly was called aside by one of the ushers standing nearby. "Would you please follow me, Miss?"

"Sorry, why do I need to follow you? Where are we going?" Molly asked guardedly. Her experience with Jim had stopped her from blindly trusting people now.

"There's been an issue with your seat. The theater is very sorry for the change and as compensation they would like to move you to a box seat."

"Oh," Molly blinked. "Erm, I actually came here with a date so – "

"Not to worry, your companion has already been informed of the change and will be joining you in the box, if he is not there already," the usher said with a pleasant smile.

"Oh. Alright then," said Molly. She nodded at the usher who led her up the stairway and into east wing of the theater where 5 box rooms were located. He opened the door to the last box and let her pass through, telling her to enjoy the show before leaving and closing the door behind him. Molly looked around in awe. She had never been in a box before and now she understood why some people preferred them instead of front seats in the orchestra. The view of the stage was breathtaking and was unimpeded by the audience, and the box itself provided a level of anonymity: no one from the general audience would be able to see who was in the box, and if one sat back far enough in the box, no one from the other boxes or the stage would be able to see either.

Molly smiled and took a seat. The box was empty save for her and 4 other chairs. She looked down over the banister and tried to spot where she had been sitting for the first act. In her surprise she had forgotten to ask what the issue with the seat was exactly. After a few minutes of searching she found the chair in question but didn't notice anything wrong with it. Her eyes slid over to the chair next to it and widened in shock when she saw Ian beginning to sit down, looking around presumably for her.

Molly fumbled with her purse and pulled out her phone, turning it on. As it was booting up, she heard the door open again behind her. Thinking it was the usher, she turned around to inquire after Ian only to have the question die on her lips. The usher had opened the door to let Sherlock enter, who was wearing one of his nicer suits. Sherlock turned towards the usher and handed him a stack of notes, with instructions not to disturb them for the duration of the show, before turning back to Molly.

He sighed. "This isn't what I had in mind when I said dinner, but I suppose we could always eat afterwards."

Molly stared at him, stupefied. "What- I- you hate opera!"

"As do you, and yet here we are. Might as well make the most of it." He sat down next to her and slipped his arm between her back and the chair, curling it to hug around her waist. He tugged her closer to him so that their sides were pressed together just as the lights dimmed in the theater. His other hand reached down and lifted the skirt of her long evening gown, pulling until the edge of her dress rested above her knees. His head leaned down to kiss at her neck as his hand let go of the dress and slipped under it, traveling up her thighs. "Spread your legs," he muttered softly. "And try to stay quiet unless you want everyone to know what's going on up here."


	8. Chapter 8

**Sherlock belongs to the BBC.**

**A/N: Thanks again to all the people who have reviewed, favorited, or followed this story so far! Please continue to keep commenting, I take those to heart and I'd like to hear what you think. I'm trying to wrap this story up before the new series gets released but I'm pretty sure I'll be unsuccessful on that front. Regardless, I am ignoring Series 3 for the duration of this story should it arrive before this is finished. Also, this chapter was again not beta'd, so please ignore or overlook any spelling, grammatical, or continuity errors. **

**This chapter is rated M. **

Chapter 8

Molly stifled a moan as she shifted in her chair, opening her legs wider until she felt Sherlock's hand cup her center. His thumb pressed against her nub, massaging it in circles while his other fingers pushed her knickers to one side. One of his fingers entered her and Molly jerked in her seat. She felt Sherlock smile against her neck. "So responsive," he muttered.

They were pulled out of their passionate haze by Molly's phone, still clenched in her hand. Molly looked down at it and saw an incoming call from Ian. Sherlock had also seen it. He plucked the phone out of her hand and declined the call. Molly made a sound of protest and Sherlock frowned at her. "What is your relationship with that idiot?"

"I- we're friends!" she furiously whispered.

"_Friends,"_ he mocked. "Friends who go on romantic outings?"

"It's not a romantic outing!"

Sherlock glared at her. "You normally get this dressed up when you meet him then? You're even wearing lipstick, which you never do unless you're interested in –" he stopped, the full implication hitting him. "You want him? _Him?!_"

Molly's mouth went dry. She felt like her boyfriend had just found out she was cheating on him. Which, she realized, didn't make sense at all. She and Sherlock weren't in a relationship. Who was he to get angry at her about this? As haughtily as she could she murmured, "So what if I do?"

She noticed a vein throbbing by his temple before she felt herself being propelled forward. Sherlock yanked her out of her chair and onto his lap. His mouth slammed onto hers as he kissed her harshly. One of his hands wrapped around her back while the other moved her dress up her legs so that it settled dangerously high on her upper thighs. He pulled her to him again, closing the distance between her core and his groin so that they ground against each other.

Molly forcefully broke the kiss, gasping and trying her best to ignore how wet her knickers were becoming. Behind her she heard the beginnings of an aria and reminded herself to keep quiet. "What's wrong with you?" she asked heatedly.

"What's wrong with _me_?" he asked indignantly. Sherlock moved against her again and Molly barely managed to suppress another moan. "You had your fill of me last night, is that it? What happened to wanting me?"

"I do want you, Sherlock." She sighed, "But not like this."

Sherlock stopped and sat still, watching her warily. "Like what?"

Molly's phone alerted them to an incoming text message. Sherlock scowled at it and held it out of reach when Molly tried to take it from him. "The bastard can wait, Molly. Answer the question."

She flushed with anger. "Stop it! He's a nice man and he hasn't done anything to deserve your vitriol."

"Except he's trying to come between us," he snarled.

"He can't come between something that doesn't exist! There is no 'us'!"

Sherlock paused and looked at her in confusion. "What –"

"No, Sherlock." Molly deflated, her ire dissipating. "Last night…" she sighed. "I know you, Sherlock. This is like those compliments you used to give me when you wanted to access to the lab. You wanted something so you played up my feelings to get it. And I just let you because I loved you. I'm still in love with you.

"But I'm in love with someone who doesn't love me back. You scoff at sentiment. You ridicule romance and you've turned away just about everyone who has shown interest in you. But even you can't turn off your biological requirements. I was just there when you were in need. You'll leave once you've been satisfied and it'll be like it never happened. I'm not blaming you, it's typical Alpha behavior."

Before Sherlock could respond – since when had he been typical anything? – Ian texted again. Sherlock glared at the phone. He wanted to tell Molly that it wasn't a fleeting interest on his part. What came out instead was, "He's an Alpha, too."

Molly sighed. She tried to squirm out of Sherlock's arms but felt them tighten in response so she gave up. "Yes, but I think he would be interested in a long term relationship. I want something permanent, and I think Ian can give that to me. I don't think you can."

"Stop thinking then, it's clearly not your strong suit as far as relationships go," Sherlock said in a low voice. "You're under the presumption that I only desire to bed you once, when the complete opposite is true. While your observations may have been accurate before Moriarty, I can assure you that it is no longer the case."

Molly's eyes widened. Sherlock averted his eyes from her, watching the stage as he continued, "I told you that you counted. It wasn't until I left that I realized I meant it in more ways than one. Texting you became the highlight of my day sometimes. You occupied my thoughts constantly: you working, your coffee, your fondness for felines and food on your clothes." He looked back at her and his voice dropped another octave. "I had to force myself to stop thinking of you sometimes, but you visited me in my dreams every night. Somewhere along the way those dreams changed from _fucking_ you to _marking_ you. To bond with you. I had thought my dreams before had been erotic but that – that was bloody fantastic."

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. "I've never bothered to look at my emotions on a deeper level. For a long time I worked under the impression of not having any. And then you came along and now I feel so many things." He sighed. "I imagine 'being in love' would feel rather like this."

Her heart was pounding so quickly that she felt like it was about to pump itself right out of her chest. She pulled back away from him after a few minutes just as an ensemble song began. She spoke at a normal tone now, confident they wouldn't be overheard. "You- you really- you're sure? You're not going to regret it later?" she asked timidly, trying to tamper down the swelling hope rising within her.

"Doubt it." With that he kissed her again, softly at first but then rising in intensity. One of his hands rose and tangled in her hair as if preventing her from pulling away. Not that Molly wanted to, of course. This was quite possibly the happiest moment of her life to date.

When they drew apart again, Sherlock said, "Reapply your lipstick." At Molly's confused look, he replied, "Consider it a kink if you must. Does that bother you? Potential bond mates should know these things. Besides, I did buy it for you."

Molly slid off his lap and reached over for her bag, fishing out the tube of lipstick and a small mirror. "Why did you buy it, by the way?" she asked him before she liberally coated her lips.

When she turned around again, she noticed Sherlock had removed his jacket and belt and undone his trousers. "No reason in particular," he said offhandedly. He gazed at her lips. "Perfect. I can't believe I ever thought it was too small."

Sherlock pulled her down to her chair and kneeled in front of her before leaning his head up to catch her mouth in another kiss. They only broke the kiss when they heard applause from down below at the end of the ensemble. He looked at her as dragged her dress up again, this time to her hips. His hands then traveled down Molly's legs, bringing her knickers with them until he pulled them off entirely. Through a sleight of hand they disappeared somewhere unseen by Molly. He adjusted her in the seat, pulling her a bit forward so that her arse was at the edge of the chair. "This isn't a very conducive environment for knotting; just another reason to hate the opera. How about an encore of last night instead?"

Without waiting for a response he dove between her legs, immediately attaching his lips to her clit and laving it with his tongue. One of Molly's hands flew to his hair while she bit down on her other hand to stop from shouting. She felt his tongue run into her entrance where it began to fuck her like a real cock. A moment later she felt two of his fingers thrust in time with his tongue and Molly fell apart immediately. There was no stopping the moans she made then. Though she had tried to keep it soft and quiet, the pause she heard from the stage and the murmurs from the crowd beneath them told her she hadn't been very successful.

She felt more than heard Sherlock chuckle. He had yet to remove his mouth from her. He drank down all her emissions before pushing his tongue and fingers inside her again. Molly felt her senses overload at that. Just as she felt her orgasm about to wash over again Sherlock pulled away from her slightly, slowing down and keeping her on the brink. She made a sound of protest and tugged on his hair lightly. He chuckled again before renewing his efforts with vigor until she came again.

Molly heard gasps and snickers from the audience again and belatedly realized she hadn't even attempted to stop the noise she was making this time around. Sherlock moved from between her legs to give her a kiss, his mouth and chin glistening with her essence. He moved away from her a few moments later and sat back at his seat, smirking when he heard the cast members struggle to bring their audience's attention back to the stage.

She flushed red, partly from really good oral sex and partly from mortification. Sherlock gave her a sideways glance. "I did tell you to keep it down."

Molly remembered what else happened last night, and also remembered a good deal of sound from the man sitting next to her as a product of their activities. "You'd moan, too, if I were getting you off."

He gave her a smug grin. "I know how to restrain myself in public."

"You were louder than I was last night."

"No I wasn't." The grin hadn't left his face, in fact it had gotten wider. He shifted in his chair, widening his legs. "Though, I'm all for giving others a chance to prove me wrong. Would you like to test your hypothesis?"

Molly snorted. If the man wanted her to reciprocate he only had to ask. She in turn went down on her knees and together they pulled down his trousers and pants. _'Hello, pretty penis.'_ Her hand lightly grasped his cock and rubbed against it slightly before she leaned down and kissed the head. Her head moved down, opening her mouth wider as she took more of him inside. Her tongue caressed every part of him it had access to.

She was so concentrated on her task that she was startled temporarily by what she thought was the flash of a camera. She let his member slip out of her mouth and was about to ask him about it, but Sherlock seemed entirely focused on making her continue. Convincing herself that she imagined the light, she shrugged and went back to his cock, working on it quicker and harder. Molly was rewarded when she heard him let out a slight whimper.

When Molly swallowed him down to the hilt, Sherlock let out an audible groan. His hand tightened in her hair as she pulled back. When she deep throated him for the second time she could feel his body tense up before he orgasmed with another groan, this one louder than the first. And, to Molly's pleasure, it coincided with one of the pauses in the opera.

Her pleasure turned to chagrin however when she heard a few cheers from the audience, clearly aimed at them. Molly sat up and took a quick peek towards the stage. They had thankfully been in the chairs that afforded them full privacy from everyone in the theater. Molly noticed the lead soprano looking around the theater in disgust, trying to pinpoint where the sounds had been coming from.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Sherlock, who had in that time managed to right himself to a relatively normal state. You probably wouldn't have known what he had just been up to if not for the lipstick staining his lips and his messier than usual hair. Sherlock glanced at her. "You may want to fix yourself. The opera should be ending soon."

"Oh. Right." Molly took out her mirror again and gaped at her reflection. The woman staring back at her looked quite debauched. Her hair was in complete disarray, there was a flush to her cheeks that traveled down her chest and disappeared under her dress, her dress was a crumbled mess, and her lipstick – she only had a slight smudge of lipstick on now actually. It was so faint that one could mistake it for being her natural lip color (if her lips were naturally that swollen), which was strange considering the copious amount she applied earlier.

The only thing she could really fix was her hair, which she immediate tied up to look semi-presentable. She searched around for her phone and knickers. "Have you seen my –?" Sherlock held her mobile out to her, standing up and guiding her to the door. "The show's not over yet."

"What's the point of staying? There are much more enjoyable activities to partake in tonight." He gave her a devilish smirk and opened the door, nodding to the usher standing there before leading Molly downstairs to the main foyer.

Just as they were passing the doors to the main theater seating area, Ian walked out. Molly immediately felt guilty for forgetting him and leaving him during the show. She was just about to call out his name when she felt Sherlock wrap his arm around her waist and pull her against him securely. Ian spotted them a second later and Molly watched as his face morphed into anger. It took her a few moments to realize that he was glaring at Sherlock instead of her.

Sherlock walked past him without stopping, pulling Molly with him. As they walked away, Molly trying to apologize for being terrible company, Sherlock yelled over his shoulder, "You may want to stay away from Baker Street tonight."

When Sherlock and Molly walked outside, Molly turned and frowned at Sherlock. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes. He needs to stay away from what's mine."

She watched as he flagged down a cab from seemingly out of nowhere. "I'm not property."

Sherlock opened the door to the cab and nudged her in. "Of course you're not. That doesn't mean you're not my Molly." He entered the car after her and gave her a quick kiss before addressing the cabbie. "221B Baker Street."


End file.
